


A Tokyo Excursion

by minigyu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Japanese National Team, M/M, Nipple Play, Post-Time Skip, Semi-Public Sex, Trains, Wall Sex, a decent example of "well that escalated quickly", also also the s2 ep 20 oh god the pain, also the manga extra of akiteru blowing his nose with yachi's nice hana-celeb tissues in volume 19, brat! makki, def not me simping over seijoh third year crumbs 24/7, door sex is a subset of wall sex, may or may not be taken directly from haikyuu to the top pt 2 episode 2, nishida yuuji, please respect public spaces and clean up after yourselves, unintentional dom/sub vibes sometimes oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28967265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minigyu/pseuds/minigyu
Summary: Timeskip! Makki and Mattsun take the shinkansen to see Oikawa play in Tokyo. Makki pays the pleasurable price of pushing Mattsun’s buttons.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Kudos: 67





	A Tokyo Excursion

**Author's Note:**

> a very very very belated birthday gift for izzy 🤍
> 
> Inspired by: https://youtu.be/xRTfEDkkNTU

Friendship is a mutual understanding between individuals. 

Sometimes such understandings require sacrifices. Some friendships demand time; others, sanity and boundless patience. For Hanamaki and Matsukawa, their current predicament requires all of the above. 

Why else would they spend their precious day off (at least, Matsukawa's day off) taking the bus, the shinkansen, and two rail lines to see their former captain play a goodwill game against his precious former kouhai and long-time rival in Tokyo.

“You know we’re not even going to be able to see him after the game. Tantanmen and a side of gyoza says we find him and Iwaizumi going at it in the Team Japan locker room.” 

“You’re on. Tonkotsu ramen for Argentina.” 

“Guess it comes down to who wins, hm?” Matsukawa's got one of his signature small, lazy smiles plastered on his face, the ones that scream victory assured with very little effort. 

Despite his general fondness for Matsukawa's face, Hanamaki would really like to smother that smugness right off his face. Maybe with a kiss. Maybe by punching him. He could sit on Mattsun's face too. If he had tits- well. Entertaining the possibilities never ceases to amuse him. 

Matsukawa sneezes, startling Hanamaki out of pleasantly inappropriate thoughts.

"Don't get sick now," he drawls with masked well-meaning. 

Matsukawa sniffles. 

Hanamaki, being the kind person that he is, pulls out a pack of tissues from his coat pocket and hands one to Matsukawa, who graciously accepts. “These are the nice kind, aren’t they?” 

“Just blow your nose and thank me for having sisters who care about tissue quality when you’re done.” 

Matsukawa does exactly as Hanamaki bids, docile as a lamb and completely unphased. Takahiro likes this Matsukawa. The corner of his lip quirks up as another pleasantly inappropriate idea unfolds in Hanamaki's mind.

Hanamaki gives the mostly empty car a cursory once-over before flamboyantly swinging a lanky leg over Matsukawa to situate himself neatly in his lap. 

“You’ve got something there," he says casually, another tissue in hand, apparently ready to wipe up whatever gross, non-existent mess Hanamaki is going to tell Matsukawa is on his face.

The reminder is very much unneeded given that Hanamaki is very much the chattier between the two of them, but he presses a finger through the soft, rose-scented paper to Matsukawa's lips anyways as he grins down wolfishly at him. 

Matsukawa looks up at him lazily from under a canopy of lashes, dark eyes giving nothing away. 

Under the guise of wiping away Issei’s snot (or maybe his apparent apathy), Hanamaki runs a thumb across Matsukawa’s subtle pout as he grinds down lightly. 

Matsukawa doesn’t even twitch. Hanamaki isn't even sure if he blinked. Ridiculous, he thinks. What kind of monster has that kind of self-control in the face of such alluring temptation.

Hanamaki refuses to believe he might be insanely hair-trigger horny. It's definitely just Matsukawa who's weird.

After all these years though, Hanamaki knows what to look for. The barest stutter in Matsukawa's breathing, wandering eyes that won't meet his. It's encouragement enough for Hanamaki to keep at his pleasant little plan, not that much was needed in the first place.

Hanamaki bites back a grin as balances himself across Matsukawa’s unfairly solid thighs as he sets a rhythm harder and faster (and honestly louder) against Matsukawa, hips circling sinuously, sensuously. 

Matsukawa gives in to Hanamaki because he always does, and does his best to thrust up to match Hanamaki. Hanamaki though, little shit that he is, deliberately stutters his hips out of time, missing Matsukawa’s growing arousal. 

Ignoring Matsukawa's furrowed brow. Hanamaki seemingly chases his own end with near-reckless abandon and growing fatigue in his thighs and satisfaction blossoming in his chest.

Hanamaki is so, so close above Matsukawa, who would probably appreciate a helping hand, too, after the little trick Hanamaki just pulled. 

But when Hanamaki reaches to make quick work of his pants, Matsukawa catches him firmly by the wrist. 

Hanamaki is too taken by the sight and sensation of Issei's thick, huge hand around his own paler, ever so much more slight frame to register any shock at being denied.

He follows the mouthwatering veins and tendons up Matsukawa's arm and neck to his unfairly sculpted jaw. Hanamaki hesitates and swallows audibly before raising his eyes those last few centimeters. 

"Passengers, we are approaching Tokyo Station. Please prepare to disembark. Thank you for riding with us this morning. Please have a pleasant rest of your journey."

Hanamaki just about chokes on nothing. His timing was horrendous.

The ghost of a dangerously crafty smirk steals across Matsukawa's face, hooded eyes glinting in a way that makes shivers run down Hanamaki's spine. 

Crap. 

Hanamaki's done it now. 

Placing what appears to be a casual, platonic hand on his shoulder, Matsukawa brings the unruly Hanamaki to heel, firmly hauling him from his lap into his own seat. 

Matsukawa fixes his belt that Hanamaki had so kindly undone with the same gleam in his eye. 

Hanamaki swallows down a whimper.

They get off at Tokyo without causing too much of a scene. 

The whole way to the arena, Hanamaki doesn't dare turn around for fear of finding that predatory look in Matsukawa's eye. Matsukawa keeps his hand on Hanamaki's shoulder for as much of the journey from the station as space allows, but even when Matsukawa relinquishes his hold to fall behind him on the escalator or the turnstiles, Hanamaki can feel Matsukawa's gaze holding him in place, lidded eyes trained on him, boring into the space between his shoulder blades. 

Hanamaki shudders bodily, fear zinging up his spine and arousal pooling in his gut. It's a good thing he can pass it off for being cold this time of year. 

They make it to the arena in good time, as neither Hanamaki nor Matsukawa are terribly fond of being told off for being late by Oikawa, of all people. 

“Issei, aren’t our seats that way—” Hanamaki cuts off as Matsukawa's grip tightens and steers him towards a deserted stairwell. 

“Yes, they are,” Matsukawa says matter-of-factly.

Hanamaki gulps. He's absolutely sure Issei is aware of how turned on he is. He's also quite positive anyone in the vicinity would notice how painfully aroused he is at present if not for the strategic placement of his jacket.

Matsukawa's grip promises Hanamaki divine retribution for the train ride over, and this time it's Hanamaki who's obedient to Matsukawa's whims and will.

Matsukawa kicks open the door before pinning Hanamaki up against it like a gravure model poster, probably centimeters shy of setting off a fire alarm, mouths sloppily coming together in ways that would put their Seijoh quickies to shame, their jackets strewn about underfoot the same way their jerseys used to grace the locker room floors.

Sturdy hands ruck Hanamaki’s shirt up as they wander the smooth expanse of his sides, sliding up to cup the gentle swell of his pecs. Of course Matsukawa would go for his chest. This is definitely payback for earlier–

But fuck, Matsukawa's mouth is on his nipple and a hand is on his cock, and Hanamaki can't see or hear or think with blood roaring in his ears and twin pinpricks of sensation at his chest.

Lips give way to tongue and teeth tormenting rosy buds and Hanamaki nearly melts into the unrelenting pleasure, arching up and pleading to keep Matsukawa’s mouth on him forever. His soul feels like it's being wrested from his chest and Hanamaki just wants more. 

"I-Issei, please," Hanamaki begs through labored breaths for anything, everything Matsukawa has to give. 

"Will you be good for me?" Matsukawa purrs into his ear as he pulls off a quickly reddened nipple with a particularly vicious suck, laying waste to Hanamaki's chest with clever fingers in the interim.

Hanamaki manages a pleading whine that Matsukawa generously accepts as a promise to behave as he braces them both up on one arm to unbutton buttons and unzip zippers. 

Matsukawa turns him around after exposing the bare essentials, making a mess of the small of Hanamaki's back with his own arousal while reaching around to inspect the source of the obscene and steadily growing splatters on the wall behind them. Hanamaki's whole body jerks despite being pinned against the wall by teeth at his neck with a hand on his length, its partner continues to tug and twist and pluck at the swollen and tender buds. Wearing clothes tomorrow is going to hurt like hell. 

Hanamki will give Matsukawa hell for this transgression later but all that’s falling from his lips right now are mangled pleas for “Harder, Issei, harder.” 

Matsukawa finally obliges. Hanamaki thanks the gods he has the sense to respond with action instead of words, setting his mouth and hands to work, sinking teeth into muscle and nails into skin and spreading Hanamaki's legs so he can feel Matsukawa breaching him, and all Hanamaki can do is take it. 

Matsukawa has taken him apart from every angle with every technique available to them, and Hanamaki is absolutely wrecked. After all, years of playing together, studying together, and studying each other, mean that Matsukawa knows Hanamaki inside and out just like Hanamaki knows all of Matsukawa's tics.

Overtaken by the wall of pleasure, Hanamaki's release coats Matsukawa's hand as he sags into the stupidly strong arm now holding both of them upright. 

Hanamaki turns over his shoulder to flash a satisfied grin at Matsukawa, and the effortless look (well, effortless on his part. Matsukawa did most of the work, after all) of complete debauchery has Matsukawa bringing himself over the edge with a quiet groan, painting Hanamaki's back, one hand stroking frantically and the other holding a blissed-out Hanamaki up by his hip. 

Their breathing sounds especially loud now, even with the hum of crowds in the stands above. 

"Takahiro?" 

Hanamaki is startled out of post-coitus. "Hnn?" is the best he can manage. 

"I need to clean you up. Try not to fall on your face." 

Rolling his eyes, Hanamaki nudges his coat with his foot to Matsukawa who inspects the contents of both pockets after pulling his pants on. 

"Ew, Issei, you got my whole back and came on my NECK too, that's fucking gross." 

"Keep whining and you can clean it up yourself." Matsukawa tosses him the same pack of tissues he used in his state of utter tissue destitution earlier that day. 

Hanamaki is already making plans to kick Matsukawa's ass as soon as he gets his own pants back on, which are fortunately put on the back burner as Matsukawa traces pointed patterns up and down his back, tissue very much in hand. 

They take their time wiping up Hanamaki and cleaning up any collateral damage (the wall and somehow only Matsukawa's jacket) before the cheers echoing through the building let them know they've missed the opening ceremony and the first point.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa dress each other haphazardly and sprint up the remaining flights of stairs and through the hallways, making their way to their seats and somehow managing to look mostly presentable as they squeeze past families and avid volleyball fans. 

A brief assessment of the scoreboard shows they've now missed three of Oikawa's service aces. They'll have to face the music when Oikawa inevitably grills them about "how intimidating did I look out there, Makki, Mattsun!"

For now, though, Hanamaki spends the game hypersensitive to the feel of his shirt on his chest, the ghosts of long-dried streaks across his back, and Matsukawa's occasional hand on his thigh as they watch rally after rally unfold. He spends all five sets resisting the urge to melt into Matsukawa's touch all over again. 

The game ends, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa drag their feet leaving the stands. 

"That was a pretty good match. It's too bad Ushiwaka played opposite the whole time, it would have been nice to see a kid like Nishida get out there more—"

Hanamaki falls silent as what is unmistakably Oikawa's yammering Iwaizumi's ear off carries from the atrium. 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa change course instinctively, making their way to their old teammates, matching grins growing uninvited on their faces. 

"Nice hair." Oikawa quips from across the room. Perceptive asshole. 

How he noticed their sex hair– on perpetually-mussed Matsukawa, of all people– is beyond Hanamaki. Even so, all of the snarky comments Hanamaki was considering disappear as Oikawa strides over, Iwaizumi in tow, and wraps his friends in a big, long-awaited hug. 

Hanamaki breathes in the scent of sweat and Salon Pas and his best friends. 

He catches the faint shadow of a lovebite sitting low on Oikawa's throat and half-hidden by his blue jersey, under what's probably a substantial layer of waterproof makeup. 

Hanamaki is polite enough not to comment aloud, unlike Oikawa. 

The four men depart the venue to relive their youth on ramen (and beer, because some things have changed) and a couple games of pickup volleyball until they're about to puke (Hanamaki) and can't pick up Oikawa's spikes (Matsukawa, because some things have not). 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa and Oikawa and Iwaizumi part ways once more as they had following their final Spring High prelims, but no tears are shed today.

As they head to the station, Hanamaki and Matsukawa debate–out of earshot, and with matching shit-eating grins– the exact details surrounding the creation of Oikawa's hickey.

With a sick twinge of satisfaction, Hanamaki has no doubt his chest is in no better shape, but again neglects to note this aloud. From the faint smirk on Matsukawa's face, it seems he already knows. Hanamaki won't be trying to do anything about that stupid smirk this time, though. 

After a busy day, their ride home is pleasantly unstimulating. 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa have little idea they themselves are the subject of similar, albeit good-spirited gossip (mostly Oikawa, much less Iwaizumi), but such is the nature of friendship.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this is an entire trainwreck (ha ha. hah). this fic has taken me an atrociously long time and i have a pset due in 14 hours oops. 
> 
> I might be projecting a bit about that hug too. maybe a lot. i miss trains and my friends :( 
> 
> also matsuhana def use single-use paper tissues (i was absolutely thinking of a specific brand while writing this props if you know which one) because no one has time to fold pocket hankies sorry ushiwaka and omi-omi. pls comment if you too are picky about tissue ply and softness


End file.
